It's Not Stupid, It's Advanced!
by Lady Lylia
Summary: The life of our favorite doombot! I don't own the real GIR, just a stuffed one I bought at Hot Topic! DON'T SUE ME!!! :)
1. The First Breath-like Thingie

SNAP. The first sound it heard. The sound of its metallic skull closing. Suddenly, in one instant, awareness dawned on it, drowning it with a flood of ideas. 'Who am I?' it thought to itself. 'Why am I here?'  
  
Its eyes opened. There were images all around it. Three life forms stood before it. Two were tall, one was short. They were making noises, speaking, words that took a moment to comprehend. The language database was not fully set up. It took several seconds to connect the relays. "It's not stupid, it's advanced!" one of the tall ones said. The first words it ever knew. The rest of the conversation, recorded and stored for its use, was now played back for it to hear. "This is GIR, your doombot." "It looks a bit, well, stupid." "It's not stupid, it's advanced!" "I see! I, Invader Zim, will use this GIR to accomplish much doominess!"  
  
'GIR. I am GIR!' it thought. I am 'a doombot', 'advanced'. It took a hesitant step forward. Its legs were not wired correctly either, and it fell, flipping over sideways onto its head. Then the small one, Invader Zim, picked it up by one foot, carried it to the pod.  
  
Zim strapped it in. 'He will take care of me', GIR thought, what must have been an emotion creeping into its brain. Happiness, it was called. Happiness. And another, love. Love for this Zim being.  
  
"Let's go, GIR!" Zim said, pushing the controls. "Off to make doominess on an unsuspecting planet!"  
  
"I'm gonna sing the 'Doom Song' now! Doom doom doom doom doom DOOM DOOM doom doom Doom doom Doom DOOM Do-Om, Doom doom DOoO00OO0OOO0Oo0OOM!!!!!!!!!!!" GIR sang, bopping in its seat. 


	2. Tacos, Burritos, and Quesadias

"Goodbye, GIR! I'm off for skool. I don't want to see any craters in the walls when I get back!" With that, Zim left, wearing his human suit.  
  
GIR sat on the couch, the doggie suit lying on the floor. When at the building constructed for its domicile with Zim, GIR was permitted to remain in its birthday suit. As GIR watched the Scary Monkey Show, it held a can in its "hand". For the fourteenth time that hour, it lifted the can up to its face so it could read the label. "R-E-T-C-H! Retch! It still says the same thing! Neatsy!" the little doombot shrieked with glee, flopping back onto the couch and guzzling the can.  
  
On the Scary Monkey Show, Mr. Angry Monkey hit Mr. Sad Monkey on the head with a mallet. "Clonk! Clonk! Clonk!" shouted Mr. Angry Monkey. "Ha ha ha!" replied Mr. Funny Monkey, who was watching from the sidelines.  
  
"Nourishment," GIR mumbled. "Burritos? Quesadias? Tacos? Yum yum." With a jerk, the little doombot leaped to its feet. It waddled over to the kitchen, pausing in front of the large cooling device. GIR opened it like the humans on the pretty picture box did when they were looking for food.  
  
"No!" GIR shrieked pitifully, falling on the ground and spasming. Where the humans kept food, Zim and GIR kept ammunition. Its tiny arms and legs twitched, and GIR began to hum a Spanish opera. When the doombot recovered from its lapse of reason, it leapt to its feet. It stood tentatively in front of the false cooling device, reached out a hand, grabbed one of the little boxes. In the box, there were hundreds of little pellets. "Bullets", the humans called them. With only a moment's contemplation, GIR grabbed one and put it in its mouth. He sucked on it a moment, moving it around with its tasting apparatus, swishing it back and forth in its mouth. "NOT a quesadia!" GIR grumbled to itself before stomping and waddling at the same time back to the living room. "NOT a taco!" GIR fell with a loud burp back onto the couch. "NOT a burrito!"  
  
On the funny picture box, Mr. Sad Monkey was lying in a long funny box, and Mr. Happy Monkey was still laughing. Maybe Mr. Angry Monkey had wandered away, GIR thought to itself as it sprawled there. Its automated digesting apparatus made a rumbly noise, and GIR started to whimper softly, "Food!"  
  
All of a sudden, the Scary Monkey Show went away. The neato picture box had a funny human on it. He had his grey hair slicked back, was wearing a funny polka-dotted suit, and he laughed at GIR. "Want Mexican? Don't want to leave your happy home? Try Taco Take-Out! Call 1-800-24-7-666, for the best tacos this side of the Canadian border!"  
  
GIR just looked in wonder at the wonderful picture box. "Did you say tacos?"  
  
The man in the glorious picture box just laughed. "Yes, you heard me! Tacos! Call 1-800-24-7-666!"  
  
GIR giggled like a teenage girl as it ran to the phone.  
  
***  
  
Zim sighed as he walked across the lawn. There was a half naked Taco Take-Out employee lying on the front step again. Shaking his head, Zim wearily shoved open the front door. Skool was hard work. He walked through the living room, ignoring GIR. The doombot was sitting on the couch, several thousand burrito wrappers on the coffee table. It was sprawled out on the couch, unconscious. GIR had a sombrero on its head and was wearing the Taco boy's pants wrapped around its torso.  
  
Making no comment or even a real acknowledgement of the scene before him, Zim simply walked past it into the kitchen, pushed the foot pedal on the "trash can" and descended into his lab. He had much doominess to accomplish that day. 


	3. A Tangy Dance with Madame Miximi

GIR sat on the windowsill, staring at the lovely lawn flamingoes in the yard. They were so pretty, the color of liquid stomach medicine. Medicine was funny. "My doctor said Mylanta," it said softly, contemplating the wondrous things on the pretty picture box.  
  
The doombot began to fidget in its seat. The doggy suit gave it wedgies. "Oh! Wedgy wedgy WEDGY!" GIR screamed, hopping wildly about the room.  
  
A voice shouted up from the trash can, "GIR, please be quiet. Doominess production is difficult when you are yelling about your bodily discomforts!"  
  
"Oh." The doombot stopped squirming. Now what should it do? Hmm. The lawn flamingoes were staring at it through the window. "Shh!" GIR screamed. "Master will hear you staring!"  
  
"GIR! BE QUIET!" Zim roared from his laboratory.  
  
"Oh well," GIR said with a sigh. "I guess you can stare, Ms. Flamingo." GIR traipsed over to the couch and turned the funny picture box on.  
  
A big lady was on the box. She was really, really big, and the top of her head was covered in metal. She had two big horns on her head, and she was screaming really loudly. "She must be really angry," GIR whispered sadly.  
  
"And that was Madame Maxime, a primadonna if I've ever heard one!" the shiny little announcer man said. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the Opera Channel, all opera, all the time!" He said with a funny tinny laugh.  
  
CLICK went the remote as GIR started pushing buttons. "Ooh! Neatsy!" it cried. The loud little picture box was now on MpTV (Music poop TV). A funny man that was all different colors was singing about 'rotting in my useless skin'.  
  
Suddenly, GIR felt the strangest impulse. It was a feeling it had never known before. Its little doombot feet began to twitch. After a minute of fighting it, causing its feet to spasm, GIR gave in. The little doombot began to dance.  
  
The dance was pretty, GIR thought. What was the name for it? Oh yes, the tangerine, GIR thought. No, wait, that can't be correct. The tangy? No…hmm.  
  
"Oh, no!" GIR whimpered. "It takes TWO to tangerine! I need another person!"  
  
The doombot looked around in wide-eyed wonder (for no apparent reason), humming the opera music from before, somehow matching the beat of the gothic rock music that was coming from the silly picture box.  
  
All the while, the lawn flamingoes continued to stare at GIR through the window. "I TOLD YOU TO STOP STARING!" it screamed.  
  
Suddenly, a light came on in GIR's cranial region. Oblivious to Zim's screams of irritation at the noise, the doombot began to laugh and ran outside.  
  
"Shall we dance, Madame Maximius?" GIR said with a tipsy bow. The doombot immediately fell over forwards, doing two and a half tumbles before landing on its head. Somehow leaping to its feet, GIR cried, "Yippy skippy, Madame Miximi!" It grabbed the lawn flamingo by the rod, and began to twirl it back into the house.  
  
When the two dancers crossed the threshold, GIR suddenly froze, dropping his partner on the ground. "I must prepare!" it cried, running frantically throughout the house.  
  
***  
  
There was loud giggle, and then yet another crashing, thudding sound.  
  
Zim sighed. "I must go check on GIR," he mumbled angrily to himself.  
  
The Irken invader took the tube back up through the trash can, and tensely marched into the living room. Even Zim, who should have been used to his doombot by now, just stared at the scene before him.  
  
The room was in shambles. There were little pieces of construction paper and very fine shreds of what appeared to be burrito wrappers littering the floor. Every light fixture that was not nailed down (and a few that were) were making spotlights on the center of the room. GIR, still in its dogsuit, was wearing a sombrero on its head and favorite pair of Taco-boy pants as a scarf. It was dancing a passionate Hispanic dance with a lawn flamingo, which was wearing at least a full package or two of band- aids as a skirt and bikini top. Meanwhile, what appeared to be Marilyn Monsoon raged on MpTV, even as the doombot was singing what sounded like a Spanish Opera at the top of its mechanical lungs.  
  
Zim could not speak, could not scream. He only stare in mute horror. 


End file.
